Faithful to uncertain clarity

A bumpy ride

We took a right turn and the jeep moved forward, jumping and shaking on the bumpy link road. The roaring engine seemed to curse the contractors who ate the bigger part of funds allocated for the construction of a smooth metal road in the area. Another basic right usurped. I doubt; corruption would be more of an adventure for any crooked officer with a big pot-belly hanging in front of his tummy. A greed that never satiates. A lust which never repletes.

Though i fooled my heart in trying to enjoy the situation as an opportunity to move each and every muscles of my body in arbitrary directions; as they say “exercise is good for health”. Later on, i had to admit that grapes were sour.

On our left, there were brick-kilns, exhaling fumes of black smoke, efficiently playing there part in polluting the air. On our right side there were shrubs sparingly covering the dry barren land. Some small sparrows chasing one another and playing around in them. Apparently indifferent of any thing around. In a while we came across some deserted houses built in a straight row; its always sad to see destruction. Someone told us that they were built for poor people in the early 1980’s but the scheme fizzled due to almost very same reasons which play their part to hinder any step taken to lend a helping hand towards the poor fellow-beings in a banana state.

The 30 sq feet houses with broken windows and big holes in the walls stood gloomy in a line reminding me of an afternoon when i was standing among few others in a straight line; probably more straighter than these houses, ready to get the irrevocable punishment. Which was expected to be comprised of an unending series of front rolls, frog jumps and push ups with special modifications as we were to be tuned for breaching the discipline. And the offense was to get more than 5 seconds late for the school assembly. So when we stood there imagining the seconds and minutes ahead of us it tortured our minds before we actually started doing all that stuff and in between, it proved to be fun instead of a hoarse corrective measure. Not to omit that my muscles hurt really bad for a week.

Having leg-muscles pulled is a hell of a feeling. Damn!! reminds me all that awkward pain. And these gloomy shattered houses remind me all that. I am really curious about the working algorithms of my brain. And these houses stand here in quiet, already broken, awaiting more doom and destruction.

Maybe they are enjoying all this. The doom which i resent could be a blessing which they celebrate. who knows?

At least they don’t have to handle the smoke and no one writes on their walls. They don’t have to listen baseless chitter chatter all day long. Neither they have to bear the dogfights. Silence is a blessing; as some scholars have agreed upon this notion after living in densely populated areas and working in noisy offices all their life. But who listen to scholars? Silence is boring. when it exceeds a limit it starts haunting us.

I say to myself, there would be secrets in them. The untold stories.

As the jeep moves ahead i take my head out to take a good look at those houses for the one last time. Doing so, my eyes stop on the one with broken door and a big hole in its front wall. The melancholy makes me think.

I am not sure whether the unrealized hopes of poor homeless families still play havoc in these ruins or not; and i don’t know whether these haunting structures of bricks and stones mourn their futility anymore or they have accepted their fate but i can state with certainty that these wretched structures have definitely got some tales hidden in them.

In the broken doors, in the holes and in their crevices. I try to visualize the milieu when there would be no one around. I hear these houses talking to each other. I think about the moonless nights and warm days when no one would come here. Loneliness changes the chemistry of things. What do these ruins do when they are all by themselves?

I hear the shrieking screams of crazy ghosts in the dark nights and the buzz of yellow wasps reverberating through the walls of these ruins as the river time steadily flows over them. I wonder; who rules this kingdom? Ugly black lizards or the violinist grass-hoppers. Do the frogs sing here in chorus when the rainy season comes? how the gushing winds growl when they desperately find their way through these walls and how the broken windows vibrate with the thunder? When it rains cats and dogs, from where the roof of a room starts leaking first? and from where the beams of rising sun enter in that house in the middle which looks less damaged than others? Whether anyone has spent a day or night in this place for the sake of adventure? Do vampires come here to conspire, when they have to attack?

How come the nomads don’t know that there are such deserted houses by the road near a water reservoir? I’ll like to know all this and much more but i would love to see these houses rebuilt and allotted to the homeless. I would like to see the greed dying, and the trust in good values getting strength. A new era should begin. An era without kickbacks and favoritism. An era where basic human rights would be respected and equality should not only be preached but also practiced.